


In My Defence, I was Left Unsupervised

by sanerontheinside



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Jedi Apprentice Series - Jude Watson & Dave Wolverton, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Gen, Master & Padawan Relationship(s), Mission Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:26:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29141472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanerontheinside/pseuds/sanerontheinside
Summary: It was supposed to be a quiet mission. The Jedi were not supposed to interfere in the proceedings. In fact, they were strictly instructednotto interfere.Despite their best intentions, though, Master Jinn and Junior Padawan Kenobi end up with a somewhat loose interpretation of 'non-interference'.(They really did do their best...)
Relationships: Qui-Gon Jinn & Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 9
Kudos: 38
Collections: QuiObi Secret Valentines 2021





	In My Defence, I was Left Unsupervised

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Grasshopper_of_Anarchy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grasshopper_of_Anarchy/gifts).



From the moment they’d left the spaceport, Obi-Wan had been on high alert. The Force was vibrating like the inside of a bell, full of dire warnings. People had gathered in the streets carrying all the classic signage ever spotted at protests and marches for equal rights. 

Peculiar, that. After all, Aktinti had been permitted to begin the application for Republic membership in part because they’d—supposedly—abolished their caste system. 

Obi-Wan had been traveling with his Master a little less than three years, but it didn’t take a Junior Padawan to pick up on the obvious: the hovels clustered around the spaceport and nearly built atop each other; the sartorial markers of status; the poverty that grew less and less visible towards the center of the city. If the caste system had been abolished, it was only in name. 

Perhaps Obi-Wan should have been a little less surprised when their host, the Honourable Lord Justice Kátiri, informed the Jedi team that they would be taking another shuttle to the site of the summit for reforms—while chivvying them to his private shuttle bay. Why, indeed, should they hold the summit at the city, where malcontented protestors were milling in the streets? 

The location chosen for the summit was not really shocking either. 

“Nothing says ‘listening to the voice of the people’ quite like a mountain resort,” Obi-Wan muttered under his breath. 

“Careful, Padawan,” Qui-Gon returned just as quietly, though a gentle amusement lurked under the admonition. “It wouldn’t do to judge them  _ too _ quickly on appearances.” 

Obi-Wan arched an eyebrow pointedly at the view: crystal-clear blue skies, shining white snow nearly glittering in daylight, treetops waving gently in the breeze. “Certainly. How long shall I wait?”

The quiet rumble of his Master’s laugh warmed him, though. 

Admittedly, the trilling sense of danger eased the moment they left the bounds of the capital. It became less a threat of immediate harm, and more a dark cloud lurking on the horizon. Obi-Wan frowned. 

“Do you think they will wait for deliberations to end?” he asked his Master. “Or…” 

The tension in the city had been palpable. Even now, he had the uncomfortable sense that the protestors would not wait for the conclusion of the summit. There was too much faith lost. Obi-Wan had seen hints of it in their mission background: the unsolved death of a well-loved civic leader, the whispers of assassination. The unrest had been brewing for months now. 

Qui-Gon seemed to understand. “I share your concerns, Padawan, but we must focus on the moment. We’ll have to keep our ears open. The sooner they agree on something, the better chance we have of preserving the peace here, but we can’t rush the proceedings, either.”

Besides, Obi-Wan reminded himself, the stated purpose of their mission was merely to mediate—not to interfere, or to push their decision in one direction or another. If they wanted Republic membership, the Aktinti leaders would have to vote to abolish the caste system. If they decided that their current social structure (and economic state) suited them better than the Republic’s terms… they had the right to choose, after all. 

Obi-Wan glanced out the window again, watching the snowy tree tops skim by. A thread of frustration nagged at him. “They haven’t kept lines of communication open,” he muttered. “They’re not even trying to look like they want to change things.”

“Padawan.” 

Obi-Wan turned back to his Master, only for Qui-Gon to smile at him and gently poke the furrow in his brow. Obi-Wan scrunched up his nose. 

“It may come as a shock to you,” Qui-Gon said, voice wry and warm, “but if they open lines of communication, it might well be worse for them.”

Obi-Wan had no reply to that but a look of utter disgust. At least it amused his Master. 

“All right, but even if it turned out that nothing was going to change and the government wouldn’t budge—wouldn’t it be better to hear it directly from the bantha’s mouth?” 

“I don’t disagree,” Qui-Gon said. “But there is little wisdom to be found in fear.”

* * *

About twenty minutes out from the resort, Obi-Wan noticed a somewhat weathered old structure of stone. It looked a bit like a fortress, built into the crag between mountains. 

“Bit of a historical landmark,” their pilot explained, when asked. “The old fort isn’t very accessible by modern means—it takes steady hands and a sharp eye to land a shuttle in that little courtyard there. To get in there, you need accomplished climbers, and though we all get our survival training, most amateurs would struggle with that trek and how far out it is. Your best bet to get in would be to find one of the ways into the cave system, but there are no extant maps.”

Obi-Wan pondered that for a moment. “So someone knows there are entries to the cave system. And, presumably, that they connect to the fortress itself.”

The pilot shrugged. “There’s always someone daring enough to try,” he said. “But then there are rockslides, mudslides, and avalanches to contend with, and sometimes the outer caves lack structural integrity. I’ve done my archeological thesis on this old thing—took some dabbling in geology, I can tell you—and even I haven’t been in there, because the best known point of ingress collapsed some twenty years back. There are eight-century-old texts complaining about the integrity of ninth-century tunnels, which were man-made additions to the cave system. Poor bastards thought their meddling would bring down the mountain.” 

Obi-Wan eyed the man quizzically. “You did a thesis in archeology?”

“Methods of Mid-Karpitian Period structural engineering and Haletic influences on Northern aesthetic,” the pilot said proudly. But then he sighed, and slipped down a little in his chair. “But our government has little use for history these days. My whole department was defunded a few years ago.”

“I’m sorry,” Qui-Gon murmured. 

“Eh.” Their pilot shrugged, suddenly cheerful. “Mother always said history didn’t feed anyone. Alas, she was right: I’ve earned more money shuttling people around Aktini than I could’ve dreamed.”

Obi-Wan must not have looked convinced, because the pilot grinned at him. He added, “That's also the closest I’ve ever seen the fort, so fair is fair.” 

“Ah.” 

“Here—”

The left wing of the shuttle dipped, and they circled back, flying a little lower over the structure. 

“I won’t get too much closer,” their pilot explained, “but look at that: that colonnade is pure Halehn architectural genius. Most Northern engineering is all straight lines and hard edges. The Southern style is very distinctive, all curvature and vines—see that pattern on the architrave? Northerners always had depictions of the great works of fellow Aktini immortalised on the frieze; but the Southerners, they preferred plant life and oceans.”

Indeed, it was almost possible to distinguish shapes, even at this distance. Obi-Wan focused on a particularly large carving. 

“That is an ocean scene,” he said, somewhat surprised. A cliffside, and the sun either rising or setting in the waves. 

The pilot turned a toothy grin at him. “Yes! The famous scene that you find almost everywhere in Halehn art and architecture: the scene at the birth of the world. But that is so far south of this place that it seems too far to even contemplate. Historians have been trying to link the North with the South for so long, and here it is! Immortalised in stone! It could mean anything from travel and trade to an actual marriage and union of courts—that, we cannot yet say. 

“Now. You have a summit to get to.” 

Obi-Wan gripped the arms of his seat as their guide abruptly pulled back from the low flight path. But as they pulled away, he thought he glimpsed movement below, a shadow slipping between columns. 

In the next moment, he dismissed it—or tried to. It could’ve been a bird, after all, or some species of mountain-dwelling ungulate.  _ Do not center on your anxieties, _ Qui-Gon had told him often enough. It was an old fort and a remote place. There were more immediate troubles to focus on, after all. 

Qui-Gon gave him a curious look, but his Master did not pry. 

* * *

They were met by a delegation of twelve when they touched down. Some seemed nervous at the sight of Jedi, most were unmoved and unimpressed. Obi-Wan didn’t mind the latter. He might’ve chafed at being missed in Qui-Gon’s shadow at first, but he’d already learned the value of being underestimated, and found that he preferred it. 

“Master Jedi,” their foremost member greeted Qui-Gon. “I am Justice Anit Foss, the Chair of these proceedings.”

“Qui-Gon Jinn,” Obi-Wan’s master introduced himself courteously, “and this is my apprentice, Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan mirrored his Master’s bow, surreptitiously using the motion to study their welcoming party. 

He wasn’t sure what he expected to find. They were all likely higher-caste, well-off folk—or wealthy enough not to have come from the slums. All of them were Justices of one rank or another—Anit Foss, being Chairman of the summit, had chosen not to put too fine a point on his title of  _ High _ Justice. Perhaps that would’ve been indecorous, or immodest. 

Foss was a traditionalist, according to Obi-Wan’s mission background, but he was also a bit of a political wildcard, known for breaking tied votes and furiously shouting down those who came to waste the Parliament’s time. Most members of Aktinti Parliament respected him. He was a Southerner, an intense Near-Human male with startlingly pale eyes, sharp-angled features, and rust-streaked yellow hair. Obi-Wan wouldn’t cross him for the world. 

These days, though, Foss had been shuffled to the bright foreground, which was roughly equivalent to being marginalised in one’s own Party. As Chairman, he could enforce Parliamentary etiquette and call the talks to order. He could still break tied votes, and give blistering speeches, but he no longer held the reins of his own Party. 

Foss was flanked by a pair of rather ambitious individuals, who stood practically breathing down his neck. Madji Shol, on the left, was introduced to the Jedi as the Minister of Trade; Hiran Ix, on the right, was the Minister of Labour. Both had been selected from the larger two parties. The cabinet had representatives from all parties, under the guise of choosing the most qualified individual for the job, but Obi-Wan just thought that just invited party tensions into the body that was supposed to govern. 

The Force seemed to be swirling around Shol and Ix, screaming for notice. The two reminded Obi-Wan of nothing so much as a pair of scavenger birds waiting for their quarry to finally stop kicking. Foss was still straight-backed and fierce, but if he was being pushed aside, these were the two to watch: the ones hungrily waiting in the wings. 

Qui-Gon sent a gentle pulse through their bond—tolerant and amused, but a reminder to stay in the moment. Obi-Wan easily refocused his attention, but the other representatives didn’t really make much of an impression. 

Well—one of them did. Minister Diunn Klar was a rather muted presence in the back of the group. Obi-Wan was rather intrigued by him, in fact, and kept an eye on the Minister all through the tedious welcome ceremony and all through the evening meal. It was meant to be an opportunity to mingle and meet the various players in these negotiations—in other words, a competition among parties to see who could charm and sway the Jedi to their cause. 

Instead, Obi-Wan followed his Master’s lead and studied  _ them. _ And charmed one or two of them, perhaps. 

Klar, though, had been fairly remote during the posh meal. He’d addressed the Jedi politely, but the fawning and flattery had been conspicuously—and refreshingly—absent.

Klar, like Foss, was of the old guard: modest, easy to miss, no longer a celebrity of his party. He specialised in finicky legalese, not parliamentary oratory. Obi-Wan had lost count of the motions and bills and reforms that bore the man’s name. 

Obi-Wan had also formed the distinct impression that the party had changed around the man, and drifted away from him. 

“As is often the case,” Qui-Gon confirmed later that evening, finally ensconced in their private rooms. “Most beings tend to outlive the trends and fashions of local politics. Some are fortunate enough to preside over real improvements in the lives of their people. Foss and Klar have seen many changes in the wind. I’m sure they have a sense for when some new trend is a squall and when it’s a change in the prevailing current.”

“But would they really support abolishing the caste system and reforming the right-to-work laws?” Obi-Wan asked. “They’ve hardly given any indication of what they think.”

Qui-Gon smiled. “You might find yourself surprised, Padawan. They are a good pair to keep an eye on; after all, they are past the time of making a name for themselves. Outgrown it, so to speak.”

But, Qui-Gon cautioned, the two probably wouldn’t make a move until it mattered. Obi-Wan took the words as a warning to brace for hours of negotiations, even if Qui-Gon hadn’t meant them to be. 

* * *

Obi-Wan might have prepared himself for hours of circuitous discussions, but by mid-meal of the first day he was already thinking dire thoughts—about the negotiations, about the ministers, and about their motives. He followed his Master’s lead, though, and did not interfere except to derail the odd quarrel that might’ve led to some rather ugly name-calling, and perhaps even a brawl. 

Their mission mandate was frustratingly limited. They were specifically instructed  _ not _ to interfere. But, then again, they’d been asked to  _ mediate. _ Total non-interference was out of the question: they were supposed to help parties form durable compromises, not stand by and let them fight it out in the middle of the halls. 

So Obi-Wan sat quietly and listened, spoke up only when things were looking dire, and tried not to allow himself to get terribly bored. On the one hand, there was frustratingly little said of any value. On the other hand, it gave Obi-Wan time to plot out ways to track down the Ministers outside of the meeting, and hopefully nudge them in a more favourable direction. Qui-Gon seemed to be considering the same approach. It wasn’t too difficult to plot out the dynamics in the room, and track down the most influential members. 

Obi-Wan didn’t like the fact that all signs pointed to Shol and Ix, though. That just didn’t seem right, though Obi-Wan couldn’t explain why. He shared his misgivings with his Master during the brief midmorning recess. 

Qui-Gon had found them a relatively secluded balcony to enjoy the crisp air and the beautifully clear, snowy view. 

“I think you’re right. They are relatively new on the scene,” Qui-Gon agreed, “and have not served long enough to build close, reliable ties by skill and influence.”

“So what, then,” Obi-Wan muttered, “are they blackmailing fellow ministers?” 

Qui-Gon shrugged, noncommittal. “Hard to know, but it’s not impossible. You noticed how they interfered each time there was a chance at getting somewhere, though? It might well be that they’ve set themselves up as a roadblock. One that you have to make friends with in order to get anywhere.”

Obi-Wan grimaced. “That’s not a good sign. How are we to negotiate with them?” 

“Well, I’m sure they must want something,” Qui-Gon said wryly. “And we are bargaining with what the Republic has to offer.”

“We can’t close our eyes to their neglecting to improve conditions for the lower caste. Though I am sure someone will make the argument that many Republic member worlds already boast massive income disparity.”

“And you will know how to counter that argument, since you’re thinking of it now.” Qui-Gon reached over and squeezed his Padawan’s shoulder. “Don’t borrow trouble before we’ve found it. At least they’re not denying the existence of some eighty percent of the population.”

Obi-Wan pulled a face. “Didn’t realise that was an option.” 

“Remind me to tell you about my first mission partnered with Master Giiett.” Qui-Gon grinned. “A couple of fresh-faced Knights, both of us.”

“‘Don’t borrow trouble before you’ve found it,’ you said?” Obi-Wan glanced up at his Master thoughtfully. “I rather think between the two of you, you  _ were _ the trouble.”

“Imp,” Qui-Gon growled, “I’ll tell Master Giiett you said that. See how you like going up against the Combat Master on your own.” 

“My apologies, Master,” Obi-Wan said, though he was anything but contrite. 

Qui-Gon merely rolled his eyes at him. “Come on, our reprieve is about over.” 

Obi-Wan frowned, though, and peered intently at the far corner of the resort, where he thought he’d seen a dark shape dart across the snowy field. “Hang on,” he murmured, “is that Ix?”

Qui-Gon followed his gaze. “Rather looks like him. Why?”

“Nothing. I just thought… that area is supposed to be off-limits, isn’t it? It’s still undergoing repairs from last year’s avalanche.” 

“I rather think you’re right,” Obi-Wan’s Master said, after a moment. “Maybe you should ask him what he’s up to. Come—you’ll get a chance to talk with him today. He’s sitting right beside us for the banquet.”

Ix  _ was _ sitting right next to them. He said nothing all night, going as far as to feign ignorance of Basic and even the more popular local trade languages. Obi-Wan gave the conversation up for a bad job. 

* * *

Their first day was long and mostly unproductive. Obi-Wan understood, intellectually, that many negotiations took place outside of offices and meeting rooms, over fancy dinners and drinks. Unfortunately, that presented a bit of a difficulty for Junior Padawans throughout most of the galaxy. 

Obi-Wan had run up against all these age-old challenges here. Ministers tended to make assumptions about his skills and understanding on the basis of his age, to no one’s surprise. This wasn’t new, and Obi-Wan did in fact appreciate the chance to slip by unnoticed—most of the time. 

Still, it was a bit galling that the only way he could really assist his Master was by passively collecting information—eavesdropping, in short. And sneaking around. 

It could’ve been worse, he supposed. On some worlds, the dignitaries and other worthies had known better than to talk about business within earshot of a Junior Padawan—or indeed any other outsider. Obi-Wan recalled being startled by abrupt shifts from shoptalk to smalltalk in the presence of a courier or server, or when they noticed Obi-Wan quietly standing beside his Master. 

But none of that was in evidence here. In fact, though the Jedi had been called to arbitrate these negotiations and review the status of Aktinti’s application for Republic membership, inevitably Obi-Wan found himself picking apart their security more than anything else. 

At least it gave him access, in a somewhat roundabout way. He could eavesdrop, interview staff members, and sneak around in all sorts of areas without having to lie or come up with  _ too _ many justifications for his presence there. And the cooks and waitstaff were all too eager to share gossip with Obi-Wan—quite possibly because few others treated them with any courtesy. 

But, as Obi-Wan reported to Qui-Gon on their second evening, the so-called resort security had only raised more questions in his mind. 

The security staff were competent, but understaffed and stretched thin. The chief of security was a friendly lady, but though she had the most experience of anyone there, she hadn’t been trained for a compound of this size, and furthermore the number of people housed in the space was clearly overwhelming to her. 

“I worked in hotels,” Agna confided. “This is so much worse right now. There is something wrong everywhere, all the time! Hospitality business for working ministers—not the job I signed up for, you know. I can’t even keep track of who’s coming and going in that restricted area—and that’s a bloody safety hazard.”

And Ix wasn’t the only one lurking in restricted areas. Obi-Wan might’ve thought it a meeting-place for minor factions or inter-party coalitions, but for the fact that there never seemed to be more than one person in the restricted zone at a time. Obi-Wan clearly saw Ix coming and going, and no one else entered while Ix was there. 

The others were much less mindful of staying away from the security cameras. But they were also not meeting or colluding with anybody, or even passing messages. Obi-Wan had simply discovered a handful of ministers with a tabacc-stick habit that they liked to satisfy in scenic places. 

Actually, Obi-Wan found himself wondering why the ministers and justices had bothered moving to the resort for their talks. Aside from it being a remote, relatively inaccessible location, they could hardly have chosen a less secure place to hold a summit. The staff—seasonal hires, a handful of regulars but mostly new faces—had not been properly vetted. There was no perimeter established around the resort, either. 

Fine, Obi-Wan groused to himself, so they were deep in the mountains in the middle of winter. So the resort had been constructed and planned in a relatively predictable, well-studied,  _ stable _ area. So they were surrounded by treacherous terrain prone to land- and rockslides and spontaneously appearing chasms. 

That didn’t mean there weren’t people crazy enough to try and make their way into the resort despite the danger. 

Qui-Gon had merely shrugged. “They are thinking of the people we saw in the streets, Padawan. Not mountain climbers, any of them, I’ll wager.” 

“I rather suspect most of the Honourable Justices aren’t either.” 

Qui-Gon coughed slightly, a sound that Obi-Wan had come to realise was cover for a decidedly un-Jedi-like laugh. 

“Well,” Qui-Gon said, “someone had to suggest the resort as the secondary location for the summit.”

“All right, at least one of them,” Obi-Wan amended. 

“I do wonder which one, though,” his Master mused. “After all, you’re right: it  _ is _ an unexpected location.”

“Financial benefit?” Obi-Wan frowned. “I’ll look into the owners and stakeholders tomorrow morning.” 

“So cynical,” Qui-Gon said, smiling. “It might not be so clear-cut.”

And it wasn’t. There was but one name on the list of stakeholders of any that overlapped with the list of summit attendees: Justice Fein Dressel. He wasn’t a very notable member of Parliament, and didn’t have a particularly large sphere of influence. His constituents were generally middle-income citizens who voted predictably. His party was on the moderate side. It did, on occasion, have enough momentum to turn the tide in one direction or another, but for the most part they never did. 

Obi-Wan spent their third dinner studying Dressel closely. Fein Dressel was a genial fellow, well-read and well-liked by members of different parties, and respected among his own. He wore a broad smile on a broad face, but Obi-Wan sensed a sharper edge in the Force about him. 

Qui-Gon was of a similar mind. Dressel was not afraid to push back where matters concerned his constituents, but he avoided getting involved in territories that were not his own. 

_ Avoiding conflict, perhaps? _ Obi-Wan wondered. 

He sensed his Master’s mild agreement along their bond.  _ Unnecessary conflict, _ Qui-Gon suggested.  _ There is quite a lot he can do to refine major laws and motions on a local level. He has no interest in being known for his opinions—it would hamper his ability to work both with Foss and with Ix. _

And though Dressel was a stakeholder in the resort business, any increase in income from holding this forum at the resort would most likely go into charitable foundations. Qui-Gon had found Dressel’s financial records for the last few years—Dressel voluntarily released the records every year, as it turned out. The money that came from his stake in the resort went directly into supporting local public works. Obi-Wan had been quite impressed with this discovery. 

“You’re getting far too used to corrupt governments and dishonest people,” Qui-Gon teased him. 

Obi-Wan shrugged. “They can stop anytime,” he said. 

Qui-Gon snorted sharply. “Brat. All right—we’ll try our luck with him, see how he intends to vote. Might give us an idea of where to start.”

* * *

That evening after latemeal, Obi-Wan returned to their quarters alone. 

Obi-Wan had actually had some success with Dressel. At least, for the first time since the start of this mission, he’d had a real conversation with someone who did not dismiss him as a mere child. He’d been basking in that minor but refreshing achievement the whole way back to their quarters. He was eager to share his findings and observations with Qui-Gon, but he was sure his Master had simply been delayed for an hour or so. 

About an hour after Obi-Wan had completed his nighttime routines—a quick wash, evening meditation—and settled down on the couch in their common room to make notes, his Master’s continuing absence was beginning to seem a little strange. Obi-Wan sent a questioning pulse down their bond, and received a only wordless acknowledgement in return. 

And a grumble, accompanied by the image of five chattering Ministers (with Shol and Ix among them, Obi-Wan noted). It seemed Qui-Gon had been waylaid, and the Ministers were once again vying for the Republic’s good favour. 

This image—accompanied by Qui-Gon's grumbling—reassured Obi-Wan. He decided, still, that he would wait up for his Master, curled up on the couch and poring over their mission background files. 

But he must have slipped into sleep, because some unmeasured time later Obi-Wan came awake blearily with the feeling of something gone terribly wrong. The air was full of a ringing silence, disturbed as if in the moment just after some seismic shock. 

Obi-Wan was certain of two things: that something had made a very loud noise, although he didn’t remember hearing it; and that the entire resort complex had been shaken, even if he hadn’t felt it. 

He couldn’t sense Qui-Gon anywhere. 

Obi-Wan launched himself from the couch, saber and comm in hand, heart in his throat. An alarm sounded, tinny and irritating—fire evacuation, Obi-Wan surmised—as he tore down the hall to the security hub where he might actually find out what in the Force was happening. 

It was a lost cause. The security hub was smoking, stinking of overheated circuitry. Obi-Wan stared at it a moment, baffled, wondering if the smoking consoles had perhaps set off the fire alarms. Then he joined the crowd and let the wave carry him out into the night. 

The first thing he realised, eyeing the structure, was that there was indeed a fire, and it was in the restricted area. Some of the ministers around him were muttering dire things about careless smokers lighting up tabacc sticks near fuel cells. 

That didn’t seem right. 

There was quite a bit of commotion, though, even near the restricted area. An exit from the habitat area led right to the snow-covered courtyard. Obi-Wan mentally noted that if there has been any evidence of an external attack or entry, that evidence had now been firmly trampled over, and sighed. 

In the meantime, he decided that the best way to keep track of everyone was to direct traffic and shuffle everyone to their appropriate locations. No one seemed all that picky about his age in the dark of Aktinti night. Ix, visibly distracted, had abandoned the act and proceeded to complain—loudly and at length, in perfectly fluent Basic—about not being told anything, and being deliberately kept in the dark about the whole situation. This was despite the fact that no one around him knew any more than he did, up to and including security personnel. 

When, at last, Minister Ix appealed to the ranking Jedi on site, Obi-Wan had taken a thoroughly un-Jedi-like pleasure in shrugging and telling him to “move along, please.” 

The mountain air was cold and crisp, and the stars shone bright and sharp. There was talk of pausing the talks in order to allow for an investigation. The rumours began to morph and mutate, from careless tabacc smokers to deliberate attacks, to the protestors at the heart of the capital city. Obi-Wan, when he first heard this new permutation on the theory, bit back an expression of extreme distaste, and wished his Master was here to quietly, subtly kill that theory in its cradle, once and for all. If anyone could do it, Qui-Gon could. 

But there was no sign of his Master. Nor did Qui-Gon appear an hour later as the last of the ministers filed back into the building, now pronounced safe. 

Nor was he there to answer Foss’s intense questioning; no, Obi-Wan did that. He reported on the state of the restricted area and the habitat wings, because the fire safety inspectors had reported the building condition to him. He reported on the condition of the security hub, because the chief security officer had reported that to him as well, along with suspicions of sabotage and intentions to mount an investigation. 

He only withheld, per the security chief’s request and only until she could personally confirm it, that evidence suggested the restricted area of the resort had been breached by someone from the outside. 

Obi-Wan finally, painfully, reported that the senior Jedi ambassador was missing, and that he was presently the only link that the Aktinti had with the Republic. 

“A mere child,” Madji Shol sneered—though, to her credit, quietly enough that she hadn’t truly said it to Obi-Wan’s face. 

Obi-Wan schooled his expression to innocent, perfect confusion. “I  _ am _ sorry, Minister,” he said, “to call another team to assist you at this time would introduce a delay of at least a couple tens, given the location of the nearest Jedi.”

Statistically speaking, it could easily be another  _ three _ tens, estimates not including layovers and time necessary to finish their original mission. 

“I am not certain that is a delay the Aktinti can afford,” Obi-Wan added apologetically. 

Some of the ministers surrounding him seemed ready to view that sober assessment as a threat. Foss merely signed and gestured to cut off the swell of indignant protest. 

“Conditions in the capitol being what they are,” the Chairman said, “you’re probably quite right. We were already playing with fire, holding a summit and deliberating instead of expediting a decision.”

Shol’s jaw snapped up so sharply Obi-Wan could hear her teeth click. 

“Please inform our security chief that she may begin her investigations tomorrow,” Foss said, addressing Obi-Wan directly. “We will reconvene tomorrow at our usual morning hour, and try to bring this matter to the final vote.”

There was a curt dismissal in his voice, and the other cabinet members withdrew with a murmured chorus of “good night.” 

Foss eyed Obi-Wan for another moment. “As I understand it, you are an apprentice, thoroughly capable of acting in your Master's stead. What I have heard from you in the past week indicates to me that you are also able to take Master Jinn’s place in the chambers, but I wish to leave that decision open to you, should you feel your skills are better suited to the investigative side of our little drama.”

Obi-Wan was surprised and oddly warmed by the offer. “Thank you, Chairman, but I am sure the security chief has the investigation well in hand. I will join the Ministers when deliberations resume tomorrow.”

“Very well,” Foss agreed easily. Obi-Wan wondered if he’d truly heard the note of relief in his voice. “Until tomorrow, Master Jedi.”

Wearily, Obi-Wan trudged back to their quarters and sank down onto the couch again. It would be no time at all before the morning call, and he still needed to sort through all his impressions of the last few hours. Obi-Wan decided it would probably be better to meditate instead of sleeping. 

So, with a soft groan, he sank into the carpet on his knees and breathed slowly, until he could enter a trance. 

It took a long time before Obi-Wan could find his center, though. He kept prodding the empty space in his mind where his Master should be. They’d been separated before, certainly, and perhaps under circumstances that had seemed more dire, but this silence… it ached, like a missing tooth. 

* * *

Obi-Wan surfaced from his uneasy meditation to the tinny buzz of his communicator. He stared at it for a moment, puzzled. There was only one person who could possibly be contacting him—

_ There was only one person who could possibly be contacting him. _

Obi-Wan lunged for the little device and clumsily thumbed it on. 

And then bit back everything he wanted to say. It occurred to him just then that perhaps Qui-Gon’s comm had been discovered on his person, and that his Master was no longer in possession of it. 

There was a long, tense silence. 

“Obi-Wan?” 

“Master!” Obi-Wan breathed again, relieved. “Are you all right? Are you hurt?” 

“Yes, yes, and no,” Qui-Gon said, audibly smiling. “They didn’t find my comm. Although, I am surprised to be picking up a signal here.” 

“Where are you?” 

“I am sure you recall that excellent specimen of Mid-Karpitian architecture we passed on the way to the resort?” 

“Yes…” Obi-Wan sighed. “The rebels are using it as a base of operations, aren’t they? Of course they are.” 

“Well done, Padawan,” Qui-Gon said warmly. “I suppose I might be in the dungeons on the external side, rather than in the caves. Tiny oversight on their part.” 

“Are they willing to negotiate?” Obi-Wan asked practically. 

“Oh, you mean, will it be possible to negotiate them down from such acts of terror as destroying the resort?” Qui-Gon snorted. “Perhaps. They do have demands they wish to address, but it’s as sorry a group of dissidents as I’ve ever seen. Half are idealists, half are just—angry. Only a handful have any practical knowledge of governing.” 

Obi-Wan thought his Master sounded—sad, perhaps a little disappointed. “You offered to help them, and they refused.” 

“Something like that,” his Master admitted. “That entire conversation could have gone better. Obi-Wan, listen: they have someone helping them on the inside.” 

“I figured as much. I don’t know who it is, yet. I have the sense that they’re not particularly interested in the rebels’ cause, though.” 

“I think you’re probably right. Some of the lads here are experiencing similar doubts. But I imagine the Ministers will not appreciate being put at risk by one of their own in such a way. If you find out who helped the rebels reach the resort and break in, there’s a chance you’ll be able to sway the Ministers on the vote.” 

Obi-Wan grinned. “I thought we weren’t meant to interfere, Master.” 

“Bugger that,” Qui-Gon growled. “Non-interference only goes so far. If they vote against the abolition of the caste system, Aktinti will be thrown into an outright civil war, or at the very least violent unrest. We were supposed to stand back and let them make their own decisions, but if we stand by and don’t interfere in this—” 

“We’ll be responsible for the bloodshed, even indirectly,” Obi-Wan filled in morosely. 

There was a moment of hesitation on the other end of the connection. “Well… no, not responsible. They are responsible for their own decisions, Padawan. But I sense there is a tipping point here. Enough people in their Parliament are willing to try living without the caste system. Enough citizens are ready to move beyond this antiquated system. It won’t take much, I think. And it won’t be a decision we made for them, either.”

Obi-Wan pondered that. “All right,” he said. “It won't be long before word gets out that the habitat compound was breached overnight.” 

“You’ll have a long day of managing anxious people ahead of you, then,” Qui-Gon said, sympathetic. “I will try to talk them into standing down on this end, but truly this group is more volatile than I’d hoped. We’d probably better keep contact to a minimum, but I will comm you if the situation changes.” 

“Then let us hope that it does not deteriorate,” said Obi-Wan. 

A fond smile crept into his Master’s voice. “Get some sleep, Padawan. An hour is better than nothing.” 

“Yes, Master. Good night.”

* * *

Word had crept around the breakfast hall in no time: the resort had been broken into overnight, the Jedi Ambassador had been taken, and the fire was a result of an explosion to obliterate their tracks. A terrorist attack, an assault on the law—

If Obi-Wan had hoped that some of the ministers would change their votes after the attack—perhaps out of a sobering realisation that they were mortal and the end was never truly far away—he was rather summarily disappointed. With the rumours of an attack circulating through the room, it was clear that a number of ministers had simply shifted their position to resist changes to the caste system. 

Obi-Wan felt a minor urge to bury his face in his hands, and maybe scream a little. But that would be conduct unbecoming of a ranking Jedi overseeing deliberations at such an important summit. 

The debate also was rather more disorganised that morning than Obi-Wan had ever seen it. The ministers were indeed rather anxious—even panicked—and their arguments were far more emotional than logical. Interruptions had Foss’s page calling everyone to order every two minutes. Heated insults were hurled across the chambers, resulting in more than one notation in the transcript of the proceedings—acts of censure to be determined and dealt with at a later date. 

“This is not conducive to reasoned debate,” Obi-Wan muttered, watching a stylus go sailing across the table. It narrowly missed an eye. 

Beside him, Justice Dressel coughed mildly into his cup of caff. “Bold of you to assume Reason ever stood a chance among members of this hallowed office.”

Obi-Wan smiled tightly, and considered his options. There were at least ten ways to end this peacefully, and a dozen more decidedly less so. But his Master had been taken captive by the rebels, and Obi-Wan’s hosts had acquitted themselves so appallingly that he was beginning to sympathise with the revolutionaries. The more civilised approach was not nearly as appealing. 

Obi-Wan found himself surrounded by a group of old, hide-bound, self-absorbed, iron-fisted, uncivil servants who couldn’t even see that their greed was choking the life out of their people, destroying all that made their lavish lifestyles possible. They didn’t even see fit to acknowledge the demands of the rebels currently occupying a fully equipped fortress situated mere klicks away. 

The fortress where his Master was currently attempting to prevent an imminent attack. Obi-Wan wasn’t certain he wished their situations had been reversed. 

He only hoped his Master would be able to placate—or at least delay—the rebels until he could get these fools to consider even listening to the demands of their people. 

Towards the hour of midmeal, Obi-Wan decided to try taking a somewhat more active role in the proceedings. Unsurprisingly, the ministers did not receive him well. Ix, in fact, spoke right over him as Obi-Wan was outlining the bounds of the topic he wished the ministers to discuss for twenty minutes. 

Obi-Wan was, though,  _ definitely _ surprised to have the Chair’s support. Anit Foss cut the minister off rather summarily and issued another promise of censure for interrupting a Republic representative. 

“But this is grossly unfair!” Ix objected. “He’s not from our world, he’s not one of us, and his Republic has no notion of what Aktinti needs!”

“Minister Ix,” Foss interjected mildly, “if I may, I would remind you that you are not a Justice yet. You have no ground to set the tenor or the structure of debate in these halls, you are merely a participant. I believe there is no need to remind of the consequences to questioning the motion of the chair. But I would also remind you that  _ his Republic _ is one that a majority of our citizens voted to join.

“Jedi Kenobi: we are amenable to your proposal, and will limit conversation to the matter of employment rights for the next twenty minutes. The first to speak will be Minister Kassk of South Trellipia.” 

And so the morning continued. 

Obi-Wan met with the security chief during the midday recess. Agna, exhausted and no longer making an effort to hide her irritation with frivolous calls to security, was not able to cast much light on last night’s events. 

“They were experienced climbers,” she told him, “amateurs, probably, who prefer ‘natural’ climbing—bloody lunatics. Mostly tech-free,” she added, noting Obi-Wan’s baffled expression. 

“Ah. What about Master Jinn?” 

“That’s why I say ‘mostly’ tech-free. They must have had snow-scooters or gliders or  _ something. _ I don’t see how else they might’ve gotten an unconscious man of Master Jinn’s stature down the mountain.”

Obi-Wan blew out a breath. “All right. And the explosion?” 

“The wreckage did obliterate any tracks we might’ve found in the snow, to determine exactly how they got up here and where they came from. The gliders were waiting below, so they likely used a remote-activated device or set it on a timer.” 

“Well,” said Obi-Wan, “I can tell you where they are, if that helps you in any way.” 

“Oh?” Agna tilted her head, curious. “I’m sure it won’t, but do tell.” 

“The old fort.” 

Agna blinked, twice. “I—they must know the cave systems, then. Damn.”

“But how did they know their way in? How did they know to go to the restricted area? There’s no obvious sign that it’s undergoing repairs now. Someone must have told them.”

“We’re interviewing people now,” Agna said wearily. “Maybe someone saw something last night. Other than that, there’s just no way to know. Someone knew to sabotage our computer banks, but that was also cover for the fact that they corrupted the data recordings.” 

Obi-Wan had thought as much. 

* * *

His comm buzzed just when Agna left the room. Obi-Wan was relieved to hear from his Master again, though a little concerned by the fact that it was still daylight. But he brushed aside that worry and showed himself out to the observation deck for a little fresh air and privacy. 

“Master!” 

“Hello, Padawan,” Qui-Gon greeted him warmly. “How go the negotiations?” 

“Finally got them to discuss one point at a time,” Obi-Wan said. “There have been shifts, but since everyone is convinced that last night’s explosion was a terrorist attack, they are mainly shifting in the direction of obstinate spite.” 

Qui-Gon chuckled. “Well said.” 

“How are things on your end?” 

“Disastrous,” Qui-Gon admitted. There was raw disappointment in his voice, and Obi-Wan winced. “It’s a few university students who’ve plotted out the usable tunnels and at least one lad who is the son of a ranking Justice. Not that he wants it known—the leader here has been very particular about rubbing it into his face every time the lad objects.” 

Obi-Wan remembered something a ministry aide had mentioned to him. “Did you catch his name, by chance? Gessel?”

Qui-Gon paused. “Now there’s a coincidence. Yes, Gessel.” 

“He’s Klar’s son. Apparently he was a rather vocal opponent to the bill on the grounds that it wouldn’t fix problems for Aktinti’s lower caste so much as compound them. He’s not wrong, but you know they froze edits to the bill almost the day after we got here.” 

Qui-Gon sighed. “I know. Poor lad doesn’t have much support here, either.”

Obi-Wan rested his elbows on the railing and leaned forward. “There’s whispers of maybe evacuating the resort.” 

His Master was not very reassuring. “It may yet come to that, I’m afraid. Try to sway them to a vote as soon as possible. Even an incomplete bill will take the wind out of the rebels’ sails a little.” 

Obi-Wan felt his mouth twist. “What, it’s less heroic to blow up a government when it’s actually decided something?” 

“Exactly.” 

“Despicable.” 

“Very much.” Qui-Gon’s voice softened then. “You’re doing very well, Obi-Wan. Remember: we cannot help those who do not wish to change.” 

“Yes, Master. Thank you,” he added, on impulse. 

“I will see you soon.” 

The connection clicked off. With a heavy sigh, Obi-Wan pocketed the comm and let his head drop onto his folded arms. He just wanted to stay there a moment: high above, overlooking the slopes, with the wind in his hair and the sun baking into his back. 

He heard someone approaching slowly a little while later, and decided he didn’t really care about Jedi propriety. He was tired; he was worried; most of the ministers had found his last nerve and blown right past it hours ago (and some of them, days). 

His companion drifted closer, and settled against the railing a few feet down. Obi-Wan was relieved to hear Dressel’s voice, and not anyone else’s. 

“It really is a lovely place,” Dressel said. “One might’ve thought that this place is so remote, so far out of the way it’s up a mountain, that no one would be able to get at us here.”

“Sure,” Obi-Wan agreed. “But the more remote your secure location, the less chance your backup will have of reaching you here.”

“A solid point. Well,” Dressel sighed, “at the time, it certainly seemed as though Ix had raised a good point about the security of this area when he suggested holding our conference here.” 

Obi-Wan’s whirling thoughts screeched to a halt. “I beg your pardon, Justice Dressel—” 

“Just Fein, please, Jedi Kenobi. No need to be so formal with me,” the man said, grinning. 

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan said absently, “but did you say—Hiran Ix suggested this resort as the secondary location?” 

Fein blinked. “He did, yes. Is something the matter?” 

If it weren’t for the abrupt shift in the voting tally, if it weren’t for Obi-Wan finding Hiran Ix wandering in remote parts of the resort—nearer to the mountain passes—if it weren’t for the possibility that moving the summit might have made Dressel  _ just that little bit _ richer— 

Obi-Wan tilted his head. “Did Ix know which way you intended to vote on the resolution to preserve the caste system?” 

Fein chuckled wryly. “I must be perfectly honest with you, Jedi Kenobi: my constituents will not be particularly affected one way or the other. Our districts offer equal rights and employment opportunities to all. We are not simply background blind, we have training courses set up. It’s a public resource, it’s not up to par with costly private education, but it’s not nothing. The assumption is, training on the job takes care of any shortfall in the long run, and the courses teach the fundamentals. 

“Now: I do have my reservations about affixing my name to this bill. It’s shit. It’s a nice core idea gutted and wrapped in fancy words, and Foss and Klar and Balayne and even that dried up old prune Jeymar will tell you the same. It’s a poison pill. The amount of work needed to make this functional on a local level—this bill delivers none of the funding to make that possible. Ix knows my feelings on the matter. I would vote against it.” 

“Is it possible,” Obi-Wan began, “and I do apologise for any untoward implications, Minister—” 

“Oh, this is going to be interesting,” Fein cut in with a smile. “Go ahead, then.” 

Obi-Wan grimaced, and forged ahead. “Is it at all possible that Minister Ix— _ suggested _ this location as a means to  _ ensure _ your vote against the resolution?”

Fein went still. Perhaps it was Obi-Wan’s imagination, but he seemed a little paler. 

“Jedi Kenobi,” Fein said quietly, “any income from my business here—”

“Goes to public works in low-income communities in your districts. Yes, I am aware. But is Hiran Ix aware of this?”

Fein studied him for a long moment. “I would like to say it would be impossible for him not to know, as I release my income records every year.” 

“But that doesn’t mean he looked.” 

Fein shook his head slowly. “No, it doesn’t.” 

Obi-Wan watched as Fein’s expression hardened, slowly but surely morphing into something angry and cut of stone. 

“That little shit,” Fein burst out at last. “I’ll rewrite the fucking thing myself.” 

“I’m not sure it’s possible to introduce rewrites at this point,” Obi-Wan said wearily. “The majority of your colleagues voted to freeze the rewrites.”

“The Chairman has the power to override that, if a key number of Justices raise an objection to the framework. Excuse me, Jedi Kenobi—I need to talk to some of my fellows.” 

Obi-Wan nodded, staring numbly in Dressel’s wake. 

* * *

Obi-Wan hadn’t seriously been counting on a rewrite of the proposed laws. It wasn’t exactly something they had a great deal of time for, particularly with the nebulous threat of another attack. But, to his intense astonishment, slowly but surely Justices began voicing some very specific criticism regarding the wording and structure of the laws. 

The air in the chambers grew increasingly tense. 

It took seven Justices’ voiced objections for the Chairman to override the freeze on edits to the proposed laws. The Justices who object would be the principal architects of the new framework, or would have the final say in approving it. 

Dressel spoke first. Obi-Wan watched as three Justices joined him. 

_ That’s four, _ he thought.  _ Can they really do it? _

It was a long few rounds of arguments before another Justice joined the ranks of the objectors. This time, surprisingly, it was Klar who spoke up. Klar, who had been as silent as a snow-covered mountain for the last tenday. Obi-Wan grit his teeth, apprehensive. 

“This piece of legislature,” Klar said delicately, nudging the datapad in front of him with the tip of a fingernail, “is shit.” 

Obi-Wan felt his eyebrow twitch up before he could stop it.  _ Wouldn’t make a move until it mattered, _ Qui-Gon had said. Obi-Wan did his best to school his expression back to polite neutrality. 

“If you’re going to let the lower caste into the better jobs on the market, you’ve got to give them access to the necessary education, training programs, and apprenticeships.” 

A general uproar followed that pronouncement. Obi-Wan reached for the bell to call them all to order again, but Klar beat him to it, cutting across the wave of angry sound: 

“It’s not as though your daughters are using that degree, Minister Tarril. And you, Master Paif? Your mid-caste constituents could only benefit from expanding this plan. When was the last time any of them had a chance to use their education? We’ve been forcing the mid-caste out of their hard-earned employment and into labour-intensive work for years, and don’t tell me it’s because there’s not enough  _ work _ to go around,” he finished acidly. 

Obi-Wan blinked. For just a moment, the outrage lay thick in the room, and sucked out all the sound. 

Then Foss shook himself off and barked out a call to order. 

* * *

It was several hours later and deep into the evening that Obi-Wan, Klar, Dressel, Foss, and a number of other Justices came up for air. Apparently it was the first time in over a decade that a multi-party committee of Justices had been called upon to rebuild a proposed set of laws wholesale. 

“Great,” said Fein, a little too brightly for the hour, “now we just need to get the idiots to vote on them.” 

“I won’t tell them you called them that, Dressel,” Justice Gamass rumbled, “but if I hear you call my wife’s second cousin an idiot again—” 

“Well, he is,” Fein grinned, unrepentant. 

“—I’ll pay you to come to the family dinner and say it to his face in front of my lovely lady. And  _ she _ will reward you with delicious pie.” 

“I love her pies,” Fein said dreamily. 

Foss and Klar were sharp as they had been all day, and exchanged sour glances. 

“Great idea,” Klar said. “Tell the rabidly anti-protest watchdog they’re an idiot. They won’t jump on that at all. Please, I only ask that you just hold off on family dinner shows like that until after we’ve passed the damn thing? Last thing we need is for anyone to assume we have pro-rebel tendencies.”

“Isn’t your son with the rebels at the fort?” Obi-Wan asked, voice mild. He’d thought it idle gossip at first, but with Qui-Gon’s confirmation and Klar’s rather acrimonious comments in the chambers, he no longer had any doubts at all. 

Klar scoffed. “So he is. But my son’s an idiot.” 

Gamass and Fein snickered into their papers. The remaining handful of Justices just looked awkward and mortified. 

Foss nudged the Justice with a reproachful look. “Don’t listen to the old crank, Jedi Kenobi. His son has been hearing our discussions over the dinner table for years. We were lamenting the gradual loss of reasoned debate and careful legal structure. We were lamenting the lack of any means to prevent people like Shol and Ix from grinding our work to a halt. He only took our complaints and tried to do something about them.”

Klar sighed. “Fine. Allow me to express my nonetheless extreme disappointment that he decided to throw in his lot and his fine mind with those bandits.”

“He’s hardly the first idealist to do so,” Foss murmured. 

“Thank you, by the by,” Klar went on, “for getting Ix out of the way. Without him, Shol will not gain the sort of support she needs.”

Obi-Wan was just about to respond when his comm buzzed again. “Would you excuse me a moment?” 

Foss and Klar both amiably waved him off. 

* * *

* * *

“No, Master, I need more time.”

Qui-Gon sighed, leaning back to rest his head against the wall of his cell. “Obi-Wan, the rebels are moving to attack at dawn, which means they will reach the resort at midday. You have no more time for negotiations, now is the time to admit defeat and  _ leave, _ Padawan.”

For a moment, Qui-Gon caught the impression of deathly stillness even through their bond, which he’d kept rather heavily shielded. “Master, where are you? Are you hurt?” 

Obi-Wan’s voice held a slow and dangerous edge to it, which almost made Qui-Gon’s lips twitch upward in a fond smile. 

“Not seriously,” he said, stretching out and crossing his legs on the floor in front of him. “I’m in one of their cell blocks, but I can assure you, Padawan, I’m only staying as long as is necessary to keep up a general appearance of harmlessness. If you insist on dallying, however, rest assured I will walk out of here, take the shuttle, fly it into the bloody courtyard, and haul you out of there myself.”

“Understood, Master. Leaving now.”

But  _ of course,  _ his Padawan would park their shuttle in the middle of the rebel-held fort the next morning, Qui-Gon found himself thinking as he socked an unfortunate guard in the jaw on his way out. 

Utter  _ brat. _

Obi-Wan appeared at the top of the ship’s ramp and laid down a spray of covering fire, giving Qui-Gon time to dart from his hiding place. Obi-Wan slapped the button the moment he was in and threw himself back into the cockpit, where it took him but a moment to raise shields again and lift off. 

Qui-Gon eased his way into the copilot’s seat and scrubbed tiredly at his face. 

“Took you long enough,” his Padawan chirped. 

Qui-Gon corrected his assessment: the lad was a  _ cheeky _ brat. 

“I could have walked out of there on my own, you know,” he half-growled. Qui-Gon had to admit, though, that he was happy to see his Padawan again. 

“Yes—would that be through the caves, then? Or down the snowy slopes?” 

“The Force would provide,” Qui-Gon said. But though his tone was surly, he couldn’t keep up the act much longer. He reached out and caught his Padawan in a quick one-armed hug. “Thank you.” 

“Of course.” Obi-Wan sounded a little surprised, but Qui-Gon would have to be Force-blind to miss the feeling of his Padawan’s sun-warm delight. 

* * *

When they returned to the city, Qui-Gon gladly partook of the Honourable Lord Justice Kátiri’s grudging hospitality—and especially of the baths. To the Honourable Lord Justice’s credit, at least, he became a lot less grudging when faced with a refreshed Republic Ambassador. 

And it seemed that tensions had been alleviated somewhat in the capital. The newsstreams reported that a final vote had been organised, and that a new set of laws abolishing the caste system and introducing broad employment and economic reform had been introduced. 

It was a few days still before the spaceport would reopen for business—something about destroyed ticket kiosks and damaged fuel lines. Obi-Wan was equally surprised to hear of it. 

“Well, I guess that’s all right,” Obi-Wan said. “A few of the Justices invited us to a tiny celebration on a job well done, if the law does pass.”

“Oh?” Qui-Gon was poring over the language in the rewritten laws. “This is excellent work. You got them to write this up in a day?” 

Obi-Wan looked a little embarrassed at that. “In a night. Eleven hours of it. We were about to introduce this in the morning, but you commed and gave us the warning to evacuate.”

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow. “Eleven hours?” 

“And nine of the angriest Justices who got tired of being blocked from work. Three more sided with Klar after he spoke. They needed a minimum of seven to call off the freeze.”

It was impossible not to be impressed. Obi-Wan had pulled a starship out of a cloak sleeve, as far as Qui-Gon was concerned. “I would certainly like to meet these new friends of yours,” Qui-Gon said. 

* * *

The vote passed with a narrow but assured majority. That evening, several Justices barged into Lord Kátiri’s home with little ceremony, and a whole lot of cheer. Anit Foss was smiling, which was almost alarming in its contrast to the typically sober Chairman. Fein Dressel was his usual charming self—cheerful, with a hint of predatory mischief, like some massive feline. 

Klar was accompanied by his son. The Justice took Qui-Gon aside briefly to thank him. 

“For what?” Qui-Gon asked, puzzled. 

“For letting my son know when to get out.” 

Qui-Gon understood. “You should give him a little more credit, I think. By the time I met him, he was already aware that his group was a lost cause.” 

“Yes, I’m sure,” Klar agreed, “but we all too often need a push to act on our knowledge. I must add that your apprentice is a true credit to your training, and to the Republic you represent.”

Qui-Gon glanced up, automatically seeking out his Padawan in the room. “Obi-Wan is forever surpassing my expectations,” Qui-Gon said. 

“That, I can believe.” 

It was almost surreal to spend an evening among the Justices who had been stiff and silent for the better part of the proceedings, and were now raucously cheerful, celebrating with renewed hope for the future. The air around the table was optimistic. Even Gessel Klar smiled once or twice, and his father unsubtly nudged him towards Obi-Wan, as if to say,  _ “watch him, this is how it’s done.” _

“Well!” Fein interrupted finally, “I believe a few announcements are in order. First: Hiran Ix has been officially disbarred. Second: several of his close colleagues have been implicated in at least being aware of his intentions to work with the rebels, and have been censured. The terms of censure consist of a fine and a two-year suspension from public office, which may be ameliorated by volunteer public service.”

Foss grinned wickedly. “Yes, and the Chairman gets to determine what constitutes appropriate public service.”

“Thought you were above petty payback,” Gamass said, curious. 

“Not always. I’m getting tired of these young ones treating me like a figurehead, and I am quite finished with pretending I can’t make their lives just that little bit more miserable than they can tolerate.” 

Obi-Wan didn’t quite stifle a snort at that. 

“And finally,” Fein spoke over them all, “we have chosen to defer the Aktinti application for Republic membership, until we can bloody well get our house in order.” 

Qui-Gon saw Obi-Wan’s head come up, and added his own soft “Oh?” to the sudden silence in the room. 

Fein nodded. “I’ve put in an ask for some of the grants for prospective members,” he said. “We are moving to integrate with the Republic by means of education, transport, and economy, but quite frankly—” a sour expression crossed his face. 

“Quite frankly, Master Jedi,” Klar took over from him, “if we achieve Republic membership within the next year or two, half the population will leave, and our reforms will fail. We need citizens, planetary residents, to stay here and solidify our local economy. We need people to invest in the programs we have put forth.” 

Qui-Gon glanced across the table at his Padawan. Obi-Wan looked thoughtful, but Qui-Gon could tell that he already understood their reasoning, and agreed with it. 

“Well,” Qui-Gon offered, “there are different levels to membership, most of them quite flexible. You can largely tailor and then change your membership according to the needs of your world.” 

Obi-Wan nodded. “Most people only ever mention full membership. We can share that information with you, if you’d like.” 

Several of the Justices looked almost relieved at that. 

“Splendid,” said Fein. “I’ll drink to that.” 

Klar snorted. “As if you ever needed an excuse.” 

* * *

At the end of the night, when the celebratory air had finally mellowed out and Lord Kátiri’s somewhat uninvited guests had gone home, Qui-Gon checked the departure times for flights and saw the Coruscant-bound ferry scheduled in another twenty hours. He showed it to Obi-Wan, who barely held back a yawn. 

Qui-Gon smiled, and felt a warm glow spread in his chest. “You’ve done well, Padawan,” he said. “In fact, you’ve done far more with the situation here than I thought possible.” 

Obi-Wan flushed to the tips of his ears, pleased and a little shy. “Thank you, Master. Although, I really don’t feel as though I did anything.” 

Qui-Gon slung an arm around his shoulder and pulled him close in a one-armed hug. “Well, it does look as though you inspired a few people, which often makes all the difference.” 

This time, Obi-Wan really did yawn, which cut off whatever answer he’d meant to give. 

“I know: you want to put together the tiered membership information and send it to the Justices, you want to pack our bags for tomorrow, and you want to get started on our report.” 

Obi-Wan nodded sheepishly. 

“Absolutely not,” Qui-Gon said, “to bed with you.” 

But before he let him go, Qui-Gon gave him another gentle squeeze, and pressed his lips to Obi-Wan’s forehead. “I’m proud of you, Padawan,” he said quietly. 

He heard a whispered, “Thank you, Master,” and smiled, letting him go. 

**Author's Note:**

> I would say I went off the rails, but this request didn't really give me any rails 😂🤣   
> ok no my rails were 'i do like some plot' and I took that and ran. whoops.


End file.
